


The Forgotten Tales of a Knight’s Duty

by Foxberry



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Knight Shiro (Voltron), M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15091457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxberry/pseuds/Foxberry
Summary: Shiro returns home from his campaign but makes a detour on the way back to the castle to visit the miller's son, Lance





	The Forgotten Tales of a Knight’s Duty

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commission I wrote for Mish who simply requested some spicy and emo shance so naturally I had to make it super soft and Shiro a knight. I hope you enjoy!

Once the towers of the castle peeked above the grassy hill, Shiro felt a deep sense of relief settling in his bones. He was sore and bruised from yet another expedition campaign, searching out in the farthest reaches of the kingdom. It had been days, a week or two perhaps by now. After so many gruelling days, all Shiro wished for was a soft bed and a warm hands.

The sun was starting to set in the distance. The delicate glow of orange light hit the top of the hills, cascading down to the village below and rising up to the top of the keep. Shadows fell across the thatched roof houses, the river that flowed from the mountain lake, and Shiro's path home. His horse had struggled as much as he had, but she kept going, pushing them forward as each bump sent a jolt of pain through him.

Through the long days and longer nights, the thick brush, and the thicker thieves, only one thing had kept him through it all: the thought of reuniting with his beloved, Lance. The lilt in his laugh, his peculiar sense of self, and sense of calm that enveloped Shiro when he was in that man's arms. Nothing else had ever felt as sure as he did in those moments.

Yet as he approached the village, crossing over brooks and bridges, the inevitable flashes of memory had him shaking. The glint of a sword swinging through the air, the red gush of blood from a fresh wound, and the inevitable limpness of a body newly slain. They haunted him whenever he dared to let his thoughts stray, whenever he managed to rest. His armour would feel heavy, pulling at his limbs, cinching around his body like a vice, until the next threat to their mission came. Shiro wished the would-be thieves had seen fit to wait only a few minutes longer, or taken to another path, but they chose the one where her royal highness' expedition would follow.

No matter how many times he thought he could forget it all, it always surged back into his mind the moment the village came into view. Suddenly every action he had made played through his head, questioning his choices, testing his resolve. Whether other knights had been victim to such plagues of the mind, Shiro didn't know, but he was too afraid to ask.

"Are you planning on taking your usual detour today?" A voice called from behind him beneath the sound of galloping hooves. A white-speckled grey horse saddled up beside him, its rider, Hunk, grinning from ear to ear. A strap of old yellowing scarf tied back part of his hair, but didn't keep the dark brown tufts from dancing wildly in the wind. He eyed Shiro with a knowing grin, leaving no room to deny the heavy implication behind the smile.

Laughing down at his armour, Shiro shook his head lightly. There was no escaping the knowing gaze of his peers, nor the jabs at his person for choosing where to spend his time. It was no surprise with how fast his heart began to beat once he looked towards the thatched roof he'd seen so many times. "I don't think my heart would allow any other path."

Hunk gave him a knowing look, one that said he knew all of Shiro's secrets. Thankfully for them both, none of them would be spoken to another soul. There was enough strife than bringing a knight's personal life out into the streets for all to judge.

With a curt nod, Shiro excused himself and took down the hill at a pace that left the sounds of other soldiers behind him. The ground was a blur beneath him and his horse, the wind singing past them with well wishes. Everything sounded good, his exhaustion gave him strength, and his wounds gave pause when he knew his love awaited.

Grass and cobblestone couldn't stop him cutting through the gardens and over riverbanks. Nor the stares of the villagers as he tied up his horse and pardoned his way through them. His heart beat faster than the beating hooves he’d heard that day but not nearly as loud as his knuckles rapping against the door to a home tucked behind the tavern.

Only when the door opened and he was greeted by that familiar smiling face and blue eyes did Shiro think to look over himself. Scratches were drawn across his arm with patches and splatters of drying blood clung to his armour. He was a mess of sweat and bruises, the telltale signs of a battle won. Taking off his helmet felt like bliss once the cool breeze of the afternoon caressed his face.

“I worried you weren’t going to come by,” Lance admitted with a guilty smile. Dressed in the white and worn clothes of a miller’s son, he still managed to look as fresh as the flour his family made. Dustings of it still clung to his cheeks, and his hands, and the apron tied around his neck and waist.

Shiro lost his words to the wind, lips parting around silence and a smile. He was glad to be home. He was glad he could find home with Lance. There was nowhere else he could come and find himself so at peace. Stepping forward, he broke into a smile and cupped Lance's face. Finally, at the warmth of the man's skin, he found the ability to speak, "How could I resist?"

Lance peered around Shiro, shifting his weight to look at the street outside. "You should come in, before anyone notices the handsome man in armour at my door." He grinned and grabbed for Shiro's waist and pulled him in. "They could probably think you're just here for flour or something." His fingers played with the edges of Shiro's chest plate, running across it with a hint of curiosity.

"Guess you're right," Shiro agreed, casting a look over his shoulder and following weakly in Lance's grasp. It was nice to let himself be so susceptible to suggestion, to nudging, letting himself be something more than a soldier in what seemed like an ongoing war. He could feel safe here. Even as he pulled the door shut and it slammed behind him, he didn't need to jolt and stand to attention, worry about the next enemy over the hill. Lance's home was his too, if only because Lance lived there.

His home was quaint, a mixture of old wood and new, stone bricks worked into places to hold up the walls and keep in the warmth. A fireplace tucked in the corner provided a warm glow to the cramp room they were in. Shiro had to duck the beams in places, but it was a small price to pay for pleasurable company.

"You look exhausted. Did you want something to drink?" Lance asked in a flurry of words. He had a way of hurrying his thoughts, rushing them out of his mouth before they were even registered by whoever he talked to. It made Shiro all the more weak for him. "Food? When was the last time you ate? I've not seen you in a week? More?"

"Lance..." Shiro warned with a look and a smile. This man could talk anyone's ear off if they let him. He had a way of stressing and worrying and speaking far too much. He meant well, so well, that all Shiro could do was say his name with all of the affection that swirled around in his chest. He appreciated the effort. "Thank you. Ale will do."

Lance moved faster than Shiro expected. While he waited, he stared around at the small selection of furniture: a round table, two chairs, and a bed with a makeshift mattress of whatever Lance could put together. His own lodgings were not much better, but the conditions in Lance's home felt a far cry from his relative comforts.

The drink Lance brought back sloshed around in the cup as he rushed back, drops falling to the floor and spilling over his fingers before he handed it to Shiro. "Should be good. Not as bland as the usual batch." Shrugging in his apron, his visage became both smaller and all the more precious. He had such a desire to impress that it made Shiro's chest ache.

Nodding back and raising his glass, Shiro didn't hesitate to take a sip, savouring it on his tongue. His eyes couldn't leave Lance's for a second. All the sweetness of the ale mingled with the warmth that flowed through them at the way this man looked at him. He wasn't a knight here, or a soldier, just a man, and he didn't need to be anything else.

"You indulge me." The truth fell from his lips like a drop of ale. The sweetness in his mouth turned sour as the bitter taste of doubt began. He wasn't worth all of this attention, this joy at the sight of him. Lance hadn't seen the looks in the eyes of the men he'd slain or the ones who had run. He should be feared.

"Why would I not?" Lance pointed to Shiro's armour and offered to take the drink in his hand. His touch was gentle, as always, when he took it away without a hint of insult. He had a way of bringing down all of Shiro's defences. "It's a honour--"

"Lance." The same warning came from his mouth like habit, but this time more broken. Lance could say something he'd regret. He didn't know. Shiro had never made it his mission to tell him. Too many of his missions went astray, resulting in bloodshed or injury. "I'm a soldier, not..."

"You are plenty of things, Shiro." Emptying his hand by placing the cup on the table on his step closer, Lance didn't seem to mind. He never seemed to mind, so blissfully unaware of how easily Shiro could hurt him. He was only a miller's son, trained in grinding grain and lifting bags of flour. His job was strenuous and his body began to show the signs of growing accustomed to the demands of his work. Yet, he was still soft enough to repeat himself with "Plenty."

Shiro frowned in disbelief, shaking his head. Lance's fingers were walking over his armour, untying and loosening the binds beneath the metal, working piece by piece off his form. Shiro protested, albeit weakly, watching with worry as his heart broke a little at how misguided Lance's affections were. It wouldn't take long before Lance would realise his flaws, how easily he managed to hurt others.

Stalling with a deep breath, Shiro let Lance remove all of his armour from his shoulders to his feet. His silence lasted as long as it took for the guilt to settle in, like dust falling to the floor, catching the briefest moments of sunlight before disappearing in the shadows again. "I've done plenty of horrible things," he muttered finally.

Lance tilted his head in the way he often did, making his already tall lanky frame just that little bit shorter. He wasn't afraid to challenge Shiro. In fact, he wasn't afraid at all. His blunt tone said as much when he replied, "That doesn't make you horrible."

Shiro paused, frozen in place by the mix of worry and confusion in his mind. There were things he could never forgive himself for and things he wished he could forget. Yet even with what he was sure the peasant folk knew of knights here was this man telling him that everything was fine. If he knew it'd be a different story, surely. Shiro asked his doubts, "How can you be so sure?"

The pressure of Lance's hands pressed against Shiro's chest. His touch was so gentle. Perhaps it was more than he deserved, but Lance moved closer, looking up with a gaze of adoration. "You're you, aren't you?" He smiled and pushed himself up to kiss Shiro gently. His lips were soft, pressing against Shiro's lips before he pulled away with a short breathy laugh.

Shiro started at Lance’s movement, frowning for a moment, unsure of how he should feel. His head shook as his mind became overcome with the idea that Lance really didn’t know him. Lance’s face was so full of joy at the sight of him. Lance’s hands dragged down over his chest, down and down, worshipping every inch of him. Shiro couldn’t understand how he deserved that attention.

Lance tugged at his shirt, pulling him towards the bed. “Sit,” he said nodding towards his bed. He shuffled towards the bed, around the discarded armour on the floor, and encouraged Shiro to move with him. “Come sit with me.” He flopped down to the bed and removed his apron, folding it and placing it to the side while Shiro hesitated to join him.

“Lance,” Shiro warned. He didn’t know what else to say. He’d hurt people today, people bigger and stronger than the man who saw no threat in him. Yet he wanted to forget that feeling, let himself go and give in to the way Lance’s hand landed on his knee and crept up his thigh.

A glint came into Lance’s eye. His hand gave Shiro’s thigh a squeeze. “Are you going to persist on saying my name like that?” Lance leaned in closer and let his other hand settled on Shiro’s stomach, fingers edging under the hem. His hands were warm, gentle, sending a tingling spark of need through him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had someone’s complete unwavering attention.

“You seem to think I am so much more than I am,” he chuckled, eyes unable to break way from Lance’s blue eyes. Shiro couldn’t help but lean into the touch. His breath hitched as Lance’s hands kept exploring. One worked under his shirt, sliding up Shiro’s skin, while the other slid towards his crotch, settling finally over his crotch.

Lance made a humming sound as he considered Shiro’s face and then his body. “I see you for how you are,” he answered with a smile, tugging Shiro’s shirt up higher and exposing his skin. “You had a hard day, haven’t you?” With a swift move, Lance pushed him back onto the bed. All of Shiro’s defenses down and completely disarmed by the man in front of him, he fell back without resistance.

Shiro froze. His heart started beating faster. His body was on fire, warmed by Lance’s attention, pressing himself up against those soft hands working their way over him. “I…” His eyes darted down to Lance’s exploring hands. One had found its way all the way up his chest, circling idly over his nipple. The other began to creep his fingers beneath the hem of Shiro’s cotton pants. “I’ve had a…  _ hard _ … day…”

Spurred on by Shiro's reaction, Lance slipped his hand down Shiro's pants' hem. He poised himself on the bed, moving to kneel on the makeshift mattress, hovering so he could watch every reaction. "I bet..." he smirked and huffed as his fingers brushed over the tip of Shiro's cock. "It seems that way."   
  
Gasping at Lance's touch, Shiro found himself caught between the tension in his body and the desire to completely give in. He was still wound up tight, the effects of a long campaign wearing down his body, yet all his nerves set alight like they'd been aching for a gentle attentive touch. "Lance, you don't need to..." he began only to train off as Lance's hand wrapped around his length.   
  
"Relax, and let me take care of you," he purred, moving himself onto the bed to sit by Shiro's side. His hand stroked up Shiro's cock slowly as he watched for a reaction. "You're here with me now, where you're safe. That's what you want, isn't it, Shiro? To be warm and safe with me?"   


Breath growing catching and growing deeper as he filled his lungs again, Shiro nodded with his eyes closed. His mind went blank when Lance touched him, when he explored over his body with his hands and lips, melting away the rest of the world so it was just the two of them. He always knew what to do. Shiro felt safer nowhere else.

"Then I'll..." he paused to accentuate his words with a pump of his hand, firm and warm around Shiro's cock, now hard in his hand. " _ Move  _ just how you like it. No one's here to see  _ how much _ you like it, the noises you make when I make you  _ feel _ good." His speed quickened, working his hand up and down, thumbing over the tip.   
  
Shiro moaned and forced himself to open his eyes and look into the eyes of his love. The man had the face and the voice and the touch of an angel. The bliss that ran through him whenever they met had his heart singing and his voice cracking. "La- _ ance-- hhahhh, yes,  _ you do w-wonders to me--  _ ahhnnn _ \- w-with your--  _ hhhhhhands _ ."

Lance grinned and leaned closer to bless Shiro's skin with his kisses, leaving feather-light whispers over cheek and neck and bared skin above his pants' hem. "Is that why you keep coming back? For more?" he teased and nudged Shiro further onto the bed with his elbow.

Moving over, Shiro could only nod. His mind lost in blur of Lance's face and the spark through his body with every stroke. All of the tension, all of the worry, all of the injuries faded away to the bliss of having his love give him his undivided attention. His back arched on the bed, arms pressing back into the sheets. They felt so cool against his skin as the heat flushed over his body.   
  
Lance hovered over him, watchful as ever, eyes glinting with his own satisfaction at seeing Shiro arching beneath him. It was those eyes that had drawn Shiro’s attention, glowing through the dust and dirt of the back alleys of the town. Now they watched him at his most vulnerable, giving in to the gentle touch of his hands. The thrill of being completely at someone's mercy ran through his nerves, bringing him closer and closer to sense of ease that he could find nowhere else.   
  
"That's it, Shiro," Lance teased with a song in his voice, a sound as light and as beautiful as a morning lark. He could sing Shiro to sleep with that lilt of his, calm every nerve, and ease every worry. Yet right now, it stoked the heat building in him. Every word that fell from his soft lips rubbed him just the right way. "Enjoy it... give in to the good feeling..."   
  
Hips twitching up into Lance's hand, Shiro gasped. His eyelids fluttered closed as his body tensed, his heart pounded, and finally with a broken moan, he came, making a sticky white mess of Lance's hand. His eyes snapped open to stare down his body and the amused but surprised look on his love's face.

Without flinching, Lance wiped his hand on the sheets and grinned triumphant. "See... that's much better isn't it, my liege." He moved his way onto the bed, crawling over slowly and resting by Shiro's side. The bed was barely big enough for the both of them, but somehow he managed to fit, resting his arm across Shiro's rest.

"I am hardly your liege," Shiro corrected, trying to keep the laughter down. It was no laughing matter to bestow such privileges as titles of respect to anyone, but between these walls, anything could happen. He could never forget that. "Don't let anyone else hear you call me that."   
  
Lance snuggled up and rested his chin on Shiro's shoulder. "Hmm... I am pretty sure I've done worse." Nudging with an elbow, he chuckled with all the guilt of a man who was entirely capable of mischievous things. “And I'm sure I can  _ do _ a lot better too.”

“That I do not doubt,” Shiro retorted with a laugh. Memories of last few weeks felt so distant with the warm feeling that surrounded him and the sense of peace that clouded his head. He never wanted to leave, smiling goofily to himself and moving his head against Lance’s. He was too content to let any of the amusement tint his voice. Instead he managed a soft whisper when he asked, “Do I need to ask you to use some restraint?” 

Lance snuggled in more, squeezing Shiro like he never wanted to let him go. “Perhaps,” he mumbled under his breath with a song in his voice. “Though I’m not sure you would enjoy my company quite so much if I happened to have any.” He walked his fingers across Shiro’s chest, teasing at the fabric, lingering to brush his fingertips over Shiro like he was appreciating a work of art. He managed to be so gentle with everything he did. It was one of the things Shiro loved about him.   
  
Shiro reluctantly agreed with a nod. “I’m sure I could enjoy your company in any capacity,” he answered and pulled Lance closer. “I wish I could enjoy it for longer.” He eyed the light coming in through the gaps in the door, through the window at the far end of the room. Light was disappearing from the sky and soon night would be upon them. He still had duties to attend to and at least a two miles ride left to go. It wasn’t far, but the longer he lingered, the more he thought he might stay. Never leaving the comfort of Lance’s arms seemed a solution to just about everything Shiro could think of.    
  
Lance pushed himself up, hand firmly on Shiro’s chest. His face turned from one of joy to confusion and dismay. His frown reached his eyes. “Can you not stay?” His hand grabbed a fistful of Shiro’s shirt and tugged. His voice softened and his shoulders slumped. “I know you can’t stay… not really, but can you stay just a little bit longer? For me?”   
  
Shiro did all he could do and reacted to impulse. His hands grasped Lance’s face, holding it between his palms like the world rested between them instead. He sat up just enough to shorten the distance between them, bringing Lance’s lips to meet his own. The miller’s son’s lips tasted of sweet preserves and the bite of freshly baked bread in the morning. He was warm and soft and eager, never hesitant, even in surprise.   
  
Lance’s lips worked against his, tasting all of Shiro’s secrets, the dirt from the road, and the forgotten tales of a knight’s duty. He didn’t question and didn’t wonder, trusting with his eyes closed and heart open that Shiro would do right by him. When their lips parted, the soft light of the room flooded back into Shiro’s sight, finding the view before him to be the best dream he could hope to live. He couldn’t say no to that.   
  
“I can afford to stay a little while longer,” Shiro relented with a smile, falling back onto the bed and pulling Lance with him. They laughed together when they hit the sheets, the sound ringing together harmonised, music to Shiro’s ears. “I’m sure they can’t possibly miss me for too long.”   
  
Running a hand through his hair, Shiro knew he shouldn’t stay and there were no excuses that would get him out of the drills and extra chores he would receive as punishment need for being late, but Lance was worth it. This time with him, no matter how short, was worth it. 

Perhaps, if he could close his eyes long enough, breathe in the memories of his smile and his laugh and the touch of his skin, he could carry enough of it with him to keep him going. At least enough to bring him back to where his heart belongs. Then when the next campaign came, when his next journey was underfoot, he’d have will and purpose to make his way home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! All comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Most also serve as writer fuel. Never underestimate the power of writer fuel.
> 
> You can find me on twitter as [@particlebarrier](http://twitter.com/particlebarrier).


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